


Lies

by phoebesmum



Category: Sports Night
Genre: Angst, Drabble Sequence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-15
Updated: 2009-11-15
Packaged: 2017-10-02 22:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoebesmum/pseuds/phoebesmum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are no lies more convincing than those we tell ourselves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lies

**Author's Note:**

> Triple drabble; written May 2004, for LiveJournal's SN100 challenge _Lies_.

**No**

You’ve been expecting this moment since the day you first met, almost. Now that it’s finally here, your script’s well-rehearsed, word-perfect. Yet somehow the words come out stilted, awkward. Why?

 

_“No, I’m not surprised. I always knew you felt this way.”_

 

_“No. I’m sorry. I don’t feel the same about you.”_

 

_“Of course I love you, man. You’re my best friend. I’ll always love you.”_

 

_“No. This doesn’t have to change anything. Everything’s okay. We’re okay. Danny … don’t …”_

 

_“There. Better now?”_

_“I’ll get you a cab. See you in the morning.”_

 

That wasn’t so difficult. Was it?

 

Liar.

 

***

 

**Fool**

Rejection _hurts_. I should know: I’m an expert.

 

What’s worse is knowing what a fool I’ve made of myself; maybe ruined the one good thing, the only constant in my life over the last ten years.

 

But all those years, I honestly thought he felt the same way I did. The way he looked at me, said my name; touched me. I thought he cared about me. Thought he loved me.

 

I guess we see what we want to see. Believe what we want to believe. I guess we only fool ourselves.

 

I guess love makes all of us liars.

 

***

 

 

**Fiction**

He said, I’ll really miss you guys.

 

He said, I’ll keep in touch.

 

And for a while he did. Then the book came out, the publicity hit, and in the whirlwind of talkshows and signing tours and finishing that difficult second novel, somehow he could never find the time. Phone calls went unanswered; emails unread. Diary schedules never seemed to match.

 

He sends them presentation copies, lovingly inscribed. He hasn’t forgotten his old friends. But it’s pointless, really, and kind of sad, trying to hold on to the past.

 

It’s okay though. Because, honestly? He barely misses them at all.

 

***

 


End file.
